


Spiritassassin Drabble Collection 1

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: A series of drabbles/short fics/Spiritassassin thoughts originally posted on my Tumblr.





	

1.

“The Force is my sight.”

This is a phrase that often comes before Chirrut stumbling over a paving stone, or crashing into a door frame or a table, or otherwise being handed a reminder that second sight isn’t the same as the first one. And he’s too faithful in the Force for anger at these missteps, but that’s not much comfort when it still feels like failure.

“The Force will be my sight.”

The usual correction–he’s still learning, and being humbled by gravity now and then is part of it. But following the refrain comes the usual annoyed huff from a man wondering why Chirrut prefers the invisible hands that drop him time and time again more than his own. Chirrut will get better at it, to be sure; his senses will someday be honed too sharply to even distinguish the mystical from his own skills, sharpened against a hard stone of frustration and necessity. And what then, Baze wonders, will be his purpose?

 

* * *

 

2.

The elders of the temple are beyond impressed with his progress. Chirrut is careful not to be prideful; he figures the embarrassment that nips at his heels when he’s shuffled around to show off his new-found skills balances it out enough, though. What he’s more careful about is to not show the parts that don’t feel so much like skills at all–the overwhelming feelings, the sensation that sometimes all the voices around him are too loud, that every stitch of fabric against his skin is too course, that the scent of food and incense wafting from the market is choking. Learning to turn off his heightened senses proves wildly more difficult than strengthening them.

But there are forces–pardon the pun–that soothe it, that bring him back to the even keel suitable for a temple guardian. His mantra, repeated over, and over, and over. Part prayer, part tether to the rest of the world, part focusing lens. And there are those warm places in the Force that he’s always been keenly good at sensing, that make him understand the sense of sight that he hasn’t had in so long. No one had to point out to him when he arrived the roots of some ancient plant hanging on the underside of temple rocks, gathering near-nonexistent moisture from the air. He felt it so strongly–the way it clung to life harder than even the sentient life forms around him, a golden-glowing pocket of pure will to live against all odds.

He sat on those rocks and meditated, day after day, quieting his thoughts and his senses beneath that halo of the Force. It was his solace, a friend to a boy who had none. It never took him around to show anyone else the miracle of the blind warrior boy; it let him struggle and settle out like a sandstorm. That little plant’s will to live filled him, purified him. So it was a particularly curious thing for Chirrut to feel that same light around a person.

Chirrut’s upbringing was unconventional, to be sure, but he thrived in the relative safety of the temple in those days. He hadn’t had much need in his younger years to feel like his plant under the stones, every day just barely surviving. This arrival to the temple–a guardian-to-be, like himself–was an enigma he intended to study. What was it that left Baze Malbus so desperate just to be alive?

 

* * *

 

3.

“You’ve seen death.”

The words startle Baze out of his reverie, and then he’s stunned all the more that someone has managed to sneak up on him. Turning toward the voice, he’s deeply unsurprised, though. That strange boy again–perhaps not so much younger than himself, though his smaller stature always fooled Baze.

“Why do you do that?” He mutters, annoyed but already certain that that kid–Chirrut, was it?–would be a challenge to argue with, to say the least. “Why would you say that?”

There’s a long silence before Chirrut sits next to him, crossing his legs, his whole small frame perched in the width of one temple flagstone. He’s facing Baze head-on, and somehow gives off the impression that he’s staring intensely while not quite looking at him. Finally: “Why shouldn’t I?”

It sounds impudent but Baze is fairly sure that his odd (and, it’s worth mentioning, quite uninvited) companion is asking sincerely, as if he can’t imagine a world so complex that you can’t just flop down in front of someone and start probing their personal life. “Because it’s none of your business,” The taller boy answers, just as sure that this is an absolute truth.

Chirrut leans back and looks at the sky–or at least tilts his head that way–and for the first time Baze notices the cloudy cast across his eyes. “Maybe, but you don’t care about that.”

“Oh, I don’t? You’re sure?”

“No. I’m sure.”

“You’re not one for small talk, are you?” He wants to be annoyed, but Chirrut is so earnest that he can’t quite bring himself to dismiss him outright–even if he also seems like a real handful. He leans in a little, but is interrupted before he can ask what’s on his mind.

“I’m not blind yet. Just almost.” He looks right at him now with frosted-over eyes, which makes Baze oddly and uncharacteristically uneasy. “But I will be. That’s why you’re looking at me like that, right?”

Baze just laughs, because it seems there’s nothing else to do. “Right.”

Chirrut laughs too, leaving Baze wondering how many times this guy is going to sneak up on him today.

 

* * *

 

4.

“You look tired.”

But it must be true, because it takes Baze a full ten seconds to realize. “Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

5.

“You cannot walk away from the order.” Chirrut does not get angry much. He’s a monk, after all, a guardian, and one who embraces the values of the old ways, the Jedi Code. There is no room for fury in his life. But as Baze stands before him, Chirrut is ready to push everything aside to make some space.

“There is nothing left for me here.” He doesn’t look at him. Chirrut may be blind, but he can feel the other’s eyes avoiding him, and he scowls like Baze has never seen.

“ _Nothing?_ ” He shouts incredulously. Baze didn’t know the man could so much as raise his voice, and it cuts through him with exactly the icy precision he’d expect from Chirrut. “There is _nothing_ for you here?”

“Nothing from the order. From the Force–”

“That is not what you said.” He shoves past him, radiating anger so strongly that even Baze feels the ripples of it in the Force. “And you always say what you mean, don’t you?”

Baze listens to Chirrut’s footsteps fade away as he storms down the hallway, staff clanging ominously against the stone. For the first time in as long as he’s known him, he doesn’t follow.

 


End file.
